


Goats and Gout

by spowell Once and Future Series (SPowell)



Series: Once and Future [9]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, M/M, post episode 5x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Once%20and%20Future%20Series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has a meeting and Arthur watches the shop.</p><p>Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to BBC, Shine, and legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goats and Gout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rachelautumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelautumn/gifts).



> Although this work of fiction coincidentally contains a character with a name featured in the series "The Dark is Rising," which oddly happens to also deal with Arthurian legend, there is no link between that story and this piece of fanfiction. I haven't even read the series.
> 
> I ran out of prompts, but I'm not finished with the series! So...didn't post this entry to Camelot Land. This one's for rachelautumn, who itches.
> 
> This work is part of an on-going series.

 

“What is all this nonsense about you being evil?” Arthur asks when they’re _finally_ alone; Brandon Davies being extremely long-winded as well as annoyingly particular about what reference books he wants to use for his novel.

Merlin shrugs. “I think it has something to do with when I showed up at Camlann as The Great Dragoon…you know, my old man persona. And it just took off from there. Tales get muddled as they’re re-told, and I never did go back to Camelot.”

Merlin’s eyes have taken on a far-away look, and Arthur frowns, leaning against the shop counter.

“You didn’t?”

Merlin doesn’t look at him, just stares down at his hands.

“I couldn’t,” he says softly. “Not without you there.”

Arthur takes a deep breath. He still can’t ask all the questions at the tip of his tongue…what happened to Guinevere, Sir Leon, Gaius, and the others. His kingdom.

“Where did you go?” he asks instead, although this pains him, too.

Merlin raises his head and looks out the window of his shop.

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”

“Oh, Merlin…”

“Let’s go home, Arthur,” Merlin interrupts, circling the counter to empty the till. Arthur straightens and goes to clean the tea area.

They leave the shop, Arthur locking the door while Merlin gets his bicycle from where it’s latched to the fence.

“Let me ride it,” Arthur says. “I need the exercise.”

“Maybe we should join a gym,” Merlin suggests, guiding the bicycle over to Arthur.

“What’s a gym?” Arthur asks, throwing a leg over and straddling it.

“A place to work out. It has equipment.”

“Sounds good.” Arthur likes the idea of a regular workout—his muscles have been itching from disuse. “Jump on the handlebars, Merlin.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Arthur encourages. “I’ll ride you home on the bike.”

Merlin makes a face but obediently hoists himself up on the handlebars of the bicycle, letting out an unmanly squeal when Arthur takes off down the street, pedaling fast.

“That sounded _exactly_ like Cook every time she found a mouse in her kitchen!” Arthur calls out, laughing.

“Shut it and slow down, you lunatic!” Merlin yells, squeezing his eyes shut as a tree branch comes perilously close to his face. The wind blows Merlin’s dark hair and his long legs dangle by the front wheel, and Arthur badly wants to stop the bike and kiss him.

When they reach their flat and get the bike safely inside, Arthur does just that, catching Merlin off guard as he turns from the front door.

“Mm…what was that for?” Merlin asks.

Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck before whispering in his ear, “For being my sorcerer. My saucy, saucy, sorcerer.”

Merlin’s answering smile is saucy indeed.

***

They go to the gym together twice a week, and Arthur usually works in another two or three times on his own. On one of those occasions, he stays later than usual, working his arms and back muscles on a machine specifically made for that purpose. (Arthur thinks these training machines are perhaps one of the most useful and least complicated things he’s found in the modern world so far.)

When Arthur’s finished and on his way to the showers, he’s arrested mid-step by the sight of two men sword-fighting in the large room usually used for something called an “aerobics” class. Mesmerized, he turns to the glass window and peers in.

It doesn’t take Arthur more than a moment to realize that the men are not actually sword fighting…those aren’t even swords they hold in their hands, but some kind of needle-like approximations. He wrinkles his nose with distaste, but continues to watch, a deep longing filling his heart.

“Why do they only use one hand?” He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud or that someone has joined him at the window until a voice answers him.

“One of the rules of fencing is you can only use one hand.”

Arthur turns to the speaker, startled. A man of Arthur’s height, with broad, dark-skin and friendly, inquisitive eyes, stands leaning against the glass window.

“I haven’t seen you around here. I’m Joshua Parks.” He holds out a hand. His accent is not one Arthur is acquainted with.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur extends his own hand, giving the other man’s a firm shake.

“Wow, that’s a terrific name,” Joshua says, smiling, teeth very white. He reminds Arthur a bit of Elyan—he has that same exotic look. “So, I take it you don’t fence?”

Arthur looks back at the two men leaping about, jabbing at one another with their needle-like weapons and gives his head a curt shake.

“What are those weapons?”

“They’re called foils.” Joshua looks at Arthur. “Would you like to try?”

Arthur laughs; he can’t help it. “No. I can’t see the purpose in it at all. I stopped to watch because I thought they were sword fighting, but this is nothing like swordplay. Not really.” Arthur turns from the window.

“You swordfight?” Joshua asks, falling into step with Arthur on the way to the locker room.

“Yes,” Arthur replies. “Although…it’s been a while.” The way his palm itches for the hilt of his sword, however, tells Arthur that it wouldn’t take him long to adjust.

He pushes open the door, entering the large room with rows of lockers. Locating his, Arthur begins to strip off his sweaty clothes.

“I don’t meet many who know the sport,” Joshua says from across the room where he’s sifting through a gym bag. “Everyone’s more into modern fencing. I’m a member of a group that gets together monthly for swordplay…would you be interested?”

Arthur looks at him, surprised, heart speeding up just a bit at the thought of doing something he _knows_.

“What do you mean, exactly?” he asks.

Joshua pulls off his shirt. His upper body is broad and fit, much like a swordsman’s would be.

“About ten of us…maybe it’s closer to fifteen now…meet at a friend’s country home and battle with swords,” Joshua answers easily, stripping off his shorts. “Jake Winters—the guy who started the club—has an assortment of authentic Medieval swords. He’s a bit of an expert and quite the show-off, but a good guy. He’s taught quite a few of us, although I learned back in America.”

Arthur doesn’t know much about America, but assumes that’s why Joshua’s accent is so odd…rather flat and unappealing to the ear.

“Anyway, we usually make a weekend of it. We’re going on the twenty-eighth. There’s plenty of room at the country house. You could bring your wife or girlfriend if you like.”

Arthur looks him in the eye. “What about my boyfriend?”

“Sure,” Joshua shrugs. “Perry brings his husband. It’s fun, and it’ll be great to have someone new to fight with. We all usually bring our own groceries and then take turns cooking.”

Arthur smiles broadly. “In that case, I accept.”

***

“Arthur, are you sure you’ll be okay watching the shop today?” Merlin asks for the tenth time, at least.

“Merlin, if you ask me that again, I’m going to throttle your scrawny, little neck.” Arthur takes a sip of coffee.

Merlin huffs. “My neck hasn’t been scrawny for centuries.”

Arthur eyes the slender column of tender skin across their breakfast table. It is indeed less scrawny than when Merlin became Arthur’s manservant. “Perhaps not, but I can still throttle it—after I nibble and suck on it a bit.” He grins lasciviously, and Merlin smirks back.

“That isn’t exactly incentive for me to shut up, now, is it?”

“Merlin…go to your little book meeting and don’t worry about me and the shop, before I take you back to bed.” Arthur’s cock gives an interested throb in his trousers.

Merlin’s expression appears sorely tempted before turning anxious again.

“I could close the shop…”

Arthur sets down his cup. “We’ve been through this. If you don’t trust me enough to run the shop on the slowest day of the week…”

“Okay!” Merlin holds up his hands. “You’re right. I won’t mention it again.”

Privately, Arthur is just a bit worried about doing things by himself, but he knows his way around the shop, and it really is the slowest day of the week. In fact, he doesn’t see a customer before eleven. He spends that time cleaning the shelves, replacing books, brewing tea for the steel canisters (which he’s grown accustomed to), and finally flipping through books that interest him while sitting on a stool at the counter.

The bell over the door chimes, and Arthur looks up to see none other than Brandon Davies.

Gods, couldn’t they go a fortnight without the man appearing in their shop?

“Hello, Mr. Davies,” Arthur greets in a bored tone. “What can I do for you?”

Davies looks around. “Hello, Arthur, isn’t Merlin here?”

Arthur wants to snap back, _Does it look like Merlin’s here, you hedge-born lout,_ but refrains. Instead he shakes his head.

“I’m sure I can help you find the reference book you need.”

Davies shoves his hands into his pockets and runs his eyes over the front area of the shop again as though he disbelieves Arthur and thinks Merlin might pop out from behind one of the shelves at any moment. Arthur grits his teeth and continues paging through the book on medieval castles in front of him.

“Where is he?” Davies asks. “He’s always here. Is he ill?”

Arthur really wants to tell the git that _Merlin is none of his business_ , but Merlin does count Davies as a friend, and Arthur has promised not to be so jealous, outwardly at least.

“He is at a meeting for book sellers,” Arthur informs Davies coolly, flipping another page.

Davies sighs but seems to get over his disappointment quickly, flashing a smile at Arthur. “What are you looking at, there? Castles? They are fascinating, aren’t they?”

Arthur closes the book and glares. Thankfully, the chimes announce another customer and Arthur is able to ignore Davies completely for the next fifteen minutes while he helps an elderly lady find an instructional manual on knitting.

When he’s rung her up, he finds Davies lounging in a chair with a cup of tea.

“Merlin won’t be in all day,” Arthur tells him curtly.

“No? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m specifically looking for information on King Arthur’s daily life. It’s difficult to find, but Merlin thought he might be able to hunt up something obscure for me.”

“Did he, now,” Arthur’s mouth quirks.

Davies nods, regarding his fingernails thoughtfully. “I’ve always held the belief that Arthur didn’t really die at Camlann but rather lived to be an old man with gout…and that perhaps he wasn’t even the warrior the legends make him out to be.” He chuckles. “One small passage I read somewhere intimates Pendragon enjoyed fucking goats more than women, which is why he was left heirless.”

Instantly enraged, Arthur pulls in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Perhaps you aren’t in a position to be writing about him, then.”

Davies looks up at Arthur. “How do you mean?”

“Obviously, if you entertain such rubbish…along with the absurd notion that _Merlin_ was _evil_ …” Arthur still hasn’t gotten over that and barely reins in his rising ire, telling himself to cool it before he says something he shouldn’t. His hands remain tight fists behind his back.

Davies puts his cup down. “So you think Arthur Pendragon really was a great warrior, then?”

“I’m certain of it,” Arthur replies, jaw pulsing.

Davies smiles. “I’m not sure how you can be, but perhaps you’re right.” He shrugs, getting to his feet. “As for Merlin being evil,---well. Stories point to the wizard at least being pretty crazy. Of course, if you even believe in wizards. Speculation is he was into hallucinogenic herbs.”

The amount of hate Arthur holds for Brandon Davies at that moment cannot be measured. It takes all Arthur has to keep his expression stoic.

“I’ll tell Merlin, _my_ Merlin that is, that you dropped by.”

Davies, for once, takes the dismissal for what it is and leaves the shop with a small wave of his hand and a friendly, “Cheers!”

Arthur sits, fuming. How dare Davies say that he, Arthur, was not a warrior, but a coward who lived to be elderly with _gout_? And _fucked goats_? He can barely make it through the rest of the day. And that Merlin, the greatest wizard ever known, hadn’t any magic at all but was indulging in mind-altering plants instead?

When Merlin meets Arthur to help lock up the shop and accompany him on the walk home, Arthur thinks he’s got his emotions well under control, but Merlin sees right through him. He stops mid-chatter about the day’s meeting, and pins his eyes on his king.

“Okay, what happened?”

The evening is cool, and a small breeze sends leaves skittering across the pavement in front of them.

Arthur looks over at Merlin, expression as innocent as he can make it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” Merlin says. “Did you give someone too much change?”

“No!” Arthur frowns. “I figured out the currency a long time ago.”

“Then, what? Did you inadvertently insult someone? Did someone ask you something you didn’t know how to answer?” Merlin’s as tenacious as any cur with a good bone when he wants to be.

“Davies stopped by,” Arthur admits.

“What?” Merlin stops for a moment before continuing walking. “But I told him in our last email I wouldn’t be in today.”

“Evidently, he forgot,” Arthur replies sardonically. “He seems to be under the misconception that during my reign as king I was a lazy goat-fucker with gout.” He purposely leaves out the part about Merlin, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

Merlin turns wide blue eyes on Arthur. “Huh?” He shakes his head. “He’s got to be teasing you, Arthur.”

“Teasing me for what purpose?” Arthur asks, giving into a fantasy of putting his fingers around Davies’ long neck and squeezing until his freckled face turns purple from lack of air.

“Are you even listening?” Merlin’s voice breaks into Arthur’s reverie. “And why are you smiling like that?”

That night, Arthur pushes deeply into Merlin, reminding him with every thrust that Merlin belongs to him.

Merlin mews and wriggles beneath him, making Arthur crazy with lust. Raising one of Merlin’s long legs and draping it over Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur thrusts harder.

“Ahh—h!” Merlin cries out. “Gods, yes…Arthur, yes.” Merlin’s chest and abdomen gleam with sweat. He encircles Arthur’s waist with his other leg and moans loudly.

Arthur grabs Merlin up, lifting him and pressing his body close, kissing him deeply as he continues to pound upward with eager cants of his hips. Merlin’s warm, hitched breaths fill Arthur’s mouth; faster, more desperate.

“Mine, Merlin,” Arthur whispers into the crease of Merlin’s neck. “Mine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the gout and goats part, obviously. :)  
> A continued thanks to those who don't just read and remain silent, but who take a moment to let me know they're enjoying the ride. <3


End file.
